


Politician and Statesman

by ghostburr



Category: 18th & 19th Century CE RPF, 18th Century CE RPF, Amrev - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-31 00:06:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6447523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostburr/pseuds/ghostburr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>this is part of a larger au i wrote a few years ago and then accidentally deleted and like... i honestly have no idea what era it's supposed to be or even what is going on but its super over the top and they're all nasty freaks</p>
            </blockquote>





	Politician and Statesman

 

General Hamilton stroked his riding crop slowly, gazing into the fire roaring before him, letting the heat play across his warm leonine features. He felt himself flush, felt the savage pleasure of absolute power course over his hot skin. He smiled to himself, pleased with a day’s work, grinning sharply into the orange glow in the otherwise darkened room. Above the mantle a grand portrait of his father, the iron-fisted and stony King George IV, bared heavily down upon him. He looked up at it, fierce emotion filling his chest.

“I will make this country great again, my father. I swear it to you.”

He gripped the leather of the chair, relishing in its richness. It cost a fortune, he reminded himself smugly. What did he care if the multitudes suffered relentlessly as dirty, unlearned farmers? He stretched his legs and watched as his boots glistened in the hot light. The fire cracked and popped; the General cracked his knuckles, satisfied. Behind him, a gait and heel similar to his rapidly approached with the precision of a fellow soldier. General Hamilton ran a pink tongue over sharpened canines in anticipation.

“Colonel Burr, is that you?”He asked, without turning around to face him. He rapped his gloved hands against the arm of the chair; leather kissing leather in a tight rhythm.

“Who else would it be?” He answered. With a voice like frozen oil and a gaze to match, the Colonel marched over to his accomplice and placed a single arm on the high back of the chair.

“Talking to _Daddy_ again, are you?” The Colonel sneered, tongue sucking against his teeth, making a _tsk tsk_. He blinked once, serpentine and vivid eyes catching everything, and laughed softly.

“You know it is up to me to finish his noble work—destroy those ridiculous  _republicans_ at all costs,” the derisive, growling way in which General Hamilton said “republicans” made the Colonel’s stomach quiver, “You know this country will only be safe in the hands of those _born to rule.”_

The General let the words fall carelessly, melodiously, from his thin mouth, all the while toying absentmindedly with a small beetle that had landed on his knee. Colonel Burr tightened the thick belt around his taut midsection and smoothed back his jet black hair.

“Well if you are quite finished with your confessional, I have some papers for us to look over, stolen from the idiot-savant Jefferson,” Colonel Burr slithered closer to his seated companion and gently entwined his sinewy arms around the upper-back and neck of his accomplice. The General purred.

 _“Do_ you? Well I suppose you _are_ good for something, then,” he replied sarcastically. General Hamilton pried the papers from the other man’s be-gloved hand and read them rapidly. His features turned from playful to dark as he brushed a shock of auburn hair out of his eyes.

“This says they have a secret weapon. A secret Agent they’re willing to employ, who claims to know the _truth_ about us and our designs.” At this, the General roared through gritted teeth and crushed the beetle with one sadistic blow from his thumb. “Goddamn them, Colonel Burr!”

The glittering black eyes watched him as the General Hamilton stood up, clenching and un-clenching his hands as though he were unsheathing claws.

“I know what it says, you idiot. I can read.” Colonel Burr hissed darkly, face hidden in the shadows. His accomplice turned on a heel and faced him.

“Then why didn’t you try and find out more?” At this, the General faced him defiantly, hands on his hips.

“And blow my cover? Please, my little poet, leave the discretionary espionage work to me,” he spat back, grin changing from annoyed to amused in an instantaneous strike. His words fell from his full lips like venom, causing his companion’s angered breath to increase.

“You are too slow. Too cautious.” General Hamilton lifted a leather finger and pointed accusingly. Colonel Burr glided closer to him.

“My fiery little poet,” he repeated the pet name unctuously and brought a single hand to the cheek of the General. They stood eye to eye, identical uniforms. “I find it hard to believe the doltish Jeffersonians can employ anyone other than drunkards and scandalmongers—the majority of their pathetic constituency, believe me—who could seriously threaten our plans.”

General Hamilton inhaled sharply at the touch; sucked in air through his bared teeth. “You condescend to me.”

 _“Never._ Why, I nearly count you my equal.”

 _“’Nearly’?”_ General Hamilton repeated, his voice lowering to a purr once again. “You are an absolute fool. If it were not for my constant vigilance and continuous hinting at your usefulness into the willing ears of my simpleton father, you would have been cast out long ago. _You will learn your place and show some respect, Colonel.”_

“Not even a reward for bringing you this information?” The Colonel motioned towards the papers. General Hamilton paused and turned to look at them as a lightning storm began to pick up outside—rain pounding the windows harrowingly. He felt his uniform proudly, the honors and patches sewn on from his heroic deeds, and with a jolt realized the Colonel had many of the same. He raised the leather crop to the other man’s cheek.

“You have more than you deserve,” the General snarled. Colonel Burr smoothly backed away, knocking his backside into a vanity. Several puffs of dust detached themselves from the mirror upon impact. The Colonel let a low chuckle escape from his throat and with a turn of his head, his pale neck glowed in the firelight.

“Says _you.”_

“What is this you’ve brought me, you duplicitous little Serpent, but papers and words? Easily forged, to be sure. How do I know you’re not playing double agent to them? Double crossing _me_ in the process?”

At this, Colonel Burr laughed again, “Never. What should I gain by betraying both sides, but isolation?”

“A man as power-hungry as you has no need of allies.”

The thunder clapped outside, bringing with it heavier rain. A bolt of lightning split the purple sky in half, illuminating the two rulers briefly, just enough for each to digest the image of the other one. Each freckle stood out boldly on the General’s face; deep-set eyes audacious with the promise of Absolute Monarchy. The Colonel’s face, likewise, was alight with mission. His hellish obsidian gaze held the promise of subversive power.

“That is your moronic father talking, not you,” the Colonel whispered derisively. “He always hated me and hoped you’d harbor the same senseless dislike. Merely because I was able to properly _debauch_ you with my talk of Empire, right?”

Another flash of lightning illuminated the red in General Hamilton’s thick, unruly mane of hair. “You will not speak of him that way. Only I knew him well enough to discern his faults.”

“Of which he no doubt had many.”

General Hamilton clamped a hot gloved hand against his accomplice’s mouth. “I told you to hold your tongue. You would do well to follow my example and at least appear to have a character, and not slither around like a—“ The General maneuvered his hand tighter as Colonel Burr struggled against it, knocking several glass vials off the vanity and onto the floor with a crash—“like some Mephistophelean reptile.” He held his hand tightly in its place for effect.

“What you brought me tonight is not good enough. Not good enough at all, Colonel Burr.” Slowly, he removed his hand from the full lips, the residual pressure leaving them plump and pink. The Colonel rubbed his face, a half-smile still slyly waiting.

“Do you remember what you did to me the night I let _Dear Tom_ have his Capital on that fetid swamp? _Do_ you? You called me an imbecile.” A look of sadistic delight glowed on General Hamilton’s features. He restrained his accomplice again, pressing him painfully against the hard wood of the dresser, and lowering his voice to a strained whisper. ”You called me an imbecile. You bound me to a bed and screwed me so hard the sheets gave way.”

The Colonel’s breathless, sneering vitriol, wreathed delicately in a smile, escaped him. “You made it quite plain that you enjoyed yourself.”

In a flash, General Hamilton’s sleek gloved hand slapped the other man deftly. Finding that the blow did not remove the serpentine smile from the Colonel’s face, he locked eyes with his accomplice and undid his own belt.

“I will teach you respect, you arrogant little Puritan. Tonight, you are going to learn the meaning of real power-lust. Turn around."

\----------

The General kicked a small stone from his path and watched it skip across the gravel and into a fence. Immediately regretting it he spat on his boot where the scuff-mark had been, and re-shined it. The day was warming up, and there was much to be done. He continued his stroll.

He thought about the recent usurpation of the election. Strange, it really was, this turn of events. He was so adamantly against the election of his political nemesis—the only man who ever really posed a threat to his _own_ ambition—that he’d completely forgotten Colonel Burr’s spine-bendingly loose morals and eagerness to conform to anyone who promised him power. Anyone, in fact, that General Hamilton was the first on a long list of possible candidates for co-counsel. The flexible snake wrapped his glistening black coils around the General’s waist and painted a picture of domination so tantalizing, so in touch with the General’s own torrid instincts, he could not help but relent.

“That is your sick talent, isn’t it?” General Hamilton muttered to himself, relishing in the crunch of gravel under his feet as he circled once again around his private garden. He couldn’t help but smile—he’d always known what the Colonel was capable of, and had always known his powers of persuasion were other-worldly, but General Hamilton had always rather hoped he’d be on the side of the persuader, not the _persuaded._

A bird of prey screeched overhead, cutting through the slate-grey sky with a jet black silhouette. The General paused and looked up, grinning.

The day the tie had been announced he felt as if his world would come crashing down. It was no wonder, then, the arch-vulture himself had sniffed out the wounded carcass and come grazing.

“I will naturally overturn the election,” the Colonel announced brazenly, stepping closer to his rival. “In the name of Christ and all his apostles, I cannot let that bean-farmer from Virginia run this country into the dirt.”

General Hamilton wiped the sweat from his brow, threw an old newspaper into a waste-paper basket. The black-eyed Colonel pulled a cross from a chain hidden under his pressed cotton shirt and kissed it.

“You look positively terrified, General,” he hissed. Entwining pale, thin fingers in the other man’s hair, he pulled the flushed cheek close to his mouth and kissed it, as well. General Hamilton, for a fleeting second, felt the forked tongue of Satan.

“You needn’t be terrified,” Colonel Burr continued in his drawling way, “I know how much you despise my politics. The very thought makes you nauseous. No, I’ve come to ask for your help.”

“I don’t want to help you. I want to leave this place.”

“That’s awfully _troublesome,_ wouldn’t you think? A lot of work for a single man, dedicated to his career.”

General Hamilton felt himself cornered, reached behind him and into a wall. “This country is in ruin. It should be stronger. Jefferson will trample the government to pieces and we will have anarchy. We will have chaos,” he managed to growl.

“Then you must stay and help me. Help me return her to her former glory.”

For a moment, the soldiers regarded one another, the General ruminating on the offer. A part of him sparked hot, the thought of being in control of affairs teased him relentlessly. The thought of domination—real, true domination—not just in numbers and figures but in actual power—enflamed a certain part of him he’d rather quell. It could not be helped. The Colonel’s rapid black eyes flickered and noticed everything.

“Rule with me, and I promise to make you co-Executive. Co-Ruler. Whatever you’d like to call it.”

He lowered his dark voice to an even more clandestine pitch, “I cannot do it without you, General Hamilton. Believe me, if we marry our talents,” his grin spread, wicked, while the General’s heart raced, “you and I will make up for what the other lacks. You will rally large ideas and I will comb the details.”

General Hamilton could not think straight. “You want to be a sort of campaign manager, for me. And I will be your figure head?”

“Yes. _Yes,_ General.”

_“My beliefs are nowhere near yours.”_

“For you, General Hamilton, I would compromise _many_ things.”

The General, lost in his reverie beneath the slate-grey sky, remembered many things about their conversation that evening. The conversation that danced over entendres and wove itself into their primal urges, slithered and purred around their heads and quivering stomachs until it became more than just a political deal. The agreement that changed, so gracefully, from full lips kissing crosses and blooming, blushing cheeks to searing whispers demanding submission and getting pinned back down, breaths clashing—equals unable to _truly_  best the other.

_Crunch, crunch._

General Hamilton’s rhythmic step calmed him. He turned and, for a moment, looked back at his grand mansion. Power was good. Power was natural, to him. There were those born to lead and those born to follow. It would not do to fill the People’s heads with lies about human equality when all around him was evidence to the contrary. For certain, if Jefferson had been able to shut Colonel Burr out of negotiations and send him chasing votes in the dark, the demagogue could have had the presidency. Fortunately for the ruling class the Colonel was not so naïve. Fortunately for General Hamilton, the Colonel was apt to listen to a pretty grin and a tropical lilt.

He did not like to admit such things, but the General was nothing if not realistic in his observations on human nature. And was prone to use such observations to his advantage.

It did not come as much of a surprise, then, when the usurpation took place. Really, the General had hoped for a Jeffersonian victory. In his vivid imagination General Hamilton saw his enemy, defined and ready to be vanquished. He walked on, hands behind his back.

Yes, it would all have to happen according to plan. The General was always planning. It was one of the talents his father the King admired in him.

Jefferson would win and the General would take him down simply. The dark horse was not supposed to throw a wrench into the gears and steal it for himself and then offer half of the pie to his political nemesis. But he _did._ And General Hamilton opened his mouth and tasted sin so sweet and natural to his superior disposition he could not help but let those black coils slowly wind themselves around his waist and squeeze him until he was breathless.

The Colonel was surprisingly pliant. So excited to be in a position of influence, he allowed the General to make plans and shout orders—as long as he had veto power. Colonel Burr happily played the part of puppet master, General Hamilton the part of supreme and awe-inspiring leader. The General positioned himself in charge of gathering money, the Colonel of spending it. The General fought and raged, tore through the lies of the Man of the People, the Colonel worked quickly and precisely to turn those lies into beneficial propaganda.

The General delivered the speeches while the Colonel studied the audience.

And that is how they fulfilled the worried scribbling of so many statesmen who’d come before them, terrified that the two celestial bodies would be sucked into each other’s orbit, careening through the atmosphere, destroying everything in their path. At this colorful vision, General Hamilton chuckled to himself. He looked down at his hands, relishing in the expensive leather of his gloves. It all made sense, really. He no longer feared the worst, no longer woke up in cold sweats, the serpentine grin coming in for another bite.

“General. There you are,” Colonel Burr marched up to him from the house, pistol gleaming dangerously from his belt. General Hamilton turned.

“Good afternoon, Colonel,” he responded in kind. “Any news?”

“Not a single bite. And I’ve spent all morning making phone calls and snooping around, I feel like one of those nasty little journalists scurrying around Jefferson’s feet, hoping he’ll drop a crumb or two.”

General Hamilton clasped his hands together in worry. “This isn’t good, Colonel. They’ve gone quiet. They are planning something, I know it. There is much to be done, you know, on our end.”

“Yes, yes I know. You made it quite plain this morning.” Colonel Burr watched his accomplice with a hungry glint. “But I’ve done everything I can and still have no leads. You have to give me more _time—“_

The General put a finger to his mouth and raised the other hand to silence the Colonel, thinking and not listening.

His brain reeled, thoughts flew through his mind quickly and decisively. There was no other choice, to be sure. The only way to fight a problem was to attack it head on. Colonel Burr would need some convincing, naturally, but the General knew how to bend him. Spineless men were often easy to bend

\----------

It was a mathematical equation. There was no emotion to it, no regard for feelings or other messy human aberrations. There was simply a formula, certain factors that arose from a perfect storm of circumstance, that allowed him to take control. And the Colonel was never one to lie awake at night, guiltily talking to ghost consciences.

Colonel Burr was a man of action, as they called him, and whether this trait formed itself free from the influence of other peoples’ opinions or was formed specifically _by_ opinions, he didn’t know or care. He saw what needed to be done and did it. That was, of course, why he could not let Jefferson have the election.

Facing his co-ruler, Colonel Burr realized he’d have to do some damage control if he wanted to keep his grip on the nation. It was true, at least vaguely, that Jefferson no longer trusted him. The Colonel wondered if Jefferson was a betting man. He wondered if Jefferson would bet the re-acquisition of power on trusting the Colonel. More specifically, he wondered if Jefferson would be willing to turn a blind eye to the Colonel’s betrayal if it meant having the presidency restored. And “democracy”.

Colonel Burr, marching along silently in the direction of a tiny white house on a hill, laughed out loud at the idea that he truly was the center of the political landscape. That he held, in his hands, the key to the government itself. He could sell his support to the highest bidder, really—be it Jefferson or the General—and come out on top.

The house loomed in the distance and he walked towards it, knowing who’d be inside.

_Find out more! You’re not working quickly enough!_

General Hamilton’s eager words and bright face resonated in his mind. And he was the reason the Colonel was on this mission—to appease and assuage him. The Colonel smiled at this, too, almost fondly. Though Jefferson was superficially easier to get along with, General Hamilton had that fire-and-brimstone honesty that Colonel Burr, almost subconsciously, was drawn to.

He reached the door and knocked, mentally preparing for the meeting. The train ride, though first class (naturally) had been tiring, and he wondered if he should have brushed up on some useless knowledge about plants indigenous to Virginia so that the conversation would not run dry. There were not many people with whom Colonel Burr dreaded having prolonged conversation with. Jefferson was one of these people.

“What are you doing here?” A tall, pale and freckled, unattractive man answered the door—graying and beleaguered. His shifting, hazel eyes and pointed nose twitched, annoyed.

Colonel Burr eyed his one-time ally up and down, silently amusing himself at Jefferson’s taste in fashion. A faded red coat, covering a moth-bitten sweater made up the top half of his slovenly ensemble and the look was completed by a pair of slightly too short, lichen-colored corduroy trousers.

“Am I not allowed to visit an old friend?” the Colonel responded coyly, flashing a slimy grin. Jefferson turned pale and indicated the Colonel step inside, before making a scene. Colonel Burr’s smile stayed plastered on his mouth as he held his breath and stepped through the doorway. The tiny house probably reeked of hemp.

Jefferson sauntered forward into his living room—surprisingly orderly for a man who spent most of his time cultivating plants whose legality was questionable—and seated himself on a rather garish plaid couch. Colonel Burr took a seat opposite him.

“Again I ask you, why are you here? What business could you possibly have with me?” Jefferson asked again, eyes turning into slits—a jackal stalking its prey. He crossed one long leg over the other and waited. When he didn’t get an answer he went on:

“Haven’t you done enough damage, Colonel Burr? I see no reason for either of us to speak to one another.”

The Colonel shifted. “General Hamilton and I have come to offer you amnesty, you might say.”

 _“Amnesty?”_ Jefferson’s bright eyes widened with offended disbelief. “I need no amnesty from either of you. I am quite content here in my cabin. I want no part in your political games. They very thought makes me sick.”

“Surely you don’t mean that,” Colonel Burr responded, “you and I both know you are a purely political animal. It is virtually impossible for you to stay locked away in this god-forsaken greenhouse without meddling in political affairs.”

Jefferson silently interrupted him, shaking his square head. Sandy hair reflected dully in an artificial light hanging from the ceiling. “I will not, I will not. I am done.”

 _“Come_ now.”

“I will not.” Jefferson repeated his mantra a third time.

Colonel Burr broke his gaze from the pointed, vulpine face, knowing he was hiding something. How to drag it out of him, that was the dilemma. He searched around the room quickly for any sign of the lie, anything that would give away Jefferson’s position, and found nothing. Here and there were scattered old books, notebooks filled to the brim with horticultural findings and studies, a few portraits of favorite historical figures decorated the walls, but nothing so out of the ordinary as to catch the Colonel’s attention. He inhaled and thought for a moment.

“So you simply sit here all day and cultivate your _plants,”_ Colonel Burr spoke again, snidely. Jefferson did not answer this. “Surely they must afford you with some kind of income. I hardly believe any man can live off the land so fully as you claim to. Everyone needs money.”

“I am a simple man, Colonel. You would be surprised how easy it is to live in such a way.” His inflection turned dark.

“You ran for president eagerly enough. What of that? You can’t sit here and tell me you want no part in political games after having run for president. After having me scamper about and gather votes in your favor like some lackey.”

Jefferson silently gazed past the Colonel’s dark head, out the window behind him.

“What are you hiding?”

“I have given you my answer.”

“I don’t buy it.”

Jefferson closed his eyes and rubbed them. “Then that is your own problem, not mine.”

Colonel Burr’s black gaze seared into his one-time ally, a suspicion churning in his stomach so strong as to make him slightly nauseous.

“The newspapers, then? The papers claim you’ve got support from your precious _demos,”_ Colonel Burr hissed, his patience wearing thin, “what of that? What of the reports of your meddling in relations with France, even after the war made them our enemy?”

Jefferson turned pale, and then regained his composure. “Keep making wild conjectures, Colonel. Chimeras suit you.”

The Colonel ignored the insult and pressed on. “And the ‘Agent’? The ‘Agent’ the papers keep talking about, the one they say you’ve got as an insider? _What of that?”_

“It is not like you to be so forward, Colonel Burr. What has General Hamilton done to you?”

The black eyed man ran a forked tongue over his teeth. Across from him, the sly old Virginian fox continued to showcase his one hundred tricks.

“I know the scandalmongers are in your pay, you old son of a bitch. Don’t play this game with me, Jefferson. You don’t know how ruthless I can be. Remember which one of us is the soldier, here, and which one of us ran like a coward when the troops were approaching.”

“You mean to threaten me with violence when I have given you no cause?” A tiny, almost imperceptible twitch of the thin canine mouth.

“I mean to make it clear to you that General Hamilton and I will not give up until we reach the bottom of whatever it is you’re planning and crush your ridiculous insurgence before you plunge this nation into anarchy.”

Finally, Jefferson offered a cold smile.

“Anarchy. A quaint notion, to be sure. It is too bad things are not as simple as that. Again, I turn to the history books for support when I tell you that people once delighting in democracy and freedom are not easily led astray from that course. In fact if it were not I—theoretically, you see—leading the insurrection against the travesty you call a government, it would be someone else. And then someone else after him. And so on and so forth until your absurd tyranny is disbanded and democracy reigns once again.”

Colonel Burr inhaled, realizing slowly the course of action Jefferson would take. It would be an _anti-_ action, in a sense. His mind raced over the implications: so convinced was this old dog that the people would naturally appeal to him as their savior he saved himself the trouble of acting proactively, and extra-legally, on the solid assumption that the rabble would eventually look to him as a leader.

The serpentine stare flicked around the room once again. Jefferson cleared his throat.

“Is there anything more specific I can help you with, then? I really am quite busy.”

The Colonel thought for a moment.

“I should like to take one of your lovely hemp plants with me.” He said tonelessly. Jefferson raised an eyebrow.

“Oh?”

“Yes. I have been meaning to get one for some time, now.” A sickly sweet unctuousness covered Colonel Burr’s words as Jefferson tried to scope out possible ulterior motives.

“The smoking of them has calming abilities.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“You’ll no doubt need them for General Hamilton, then,” Jefferson responded, with more than a little malicious glee in his voice. He stood up and looked around him, then into the adjoining kitchen where more plants grew under an obnoxious artificial light. Colonel Burr bit his lip at the insult against his co-counsel but held his tongue.

“General Hamilton. Of course.” He managed, standing slowly and slithering a gloved hand towards a table covered in notebooks.

“You will naturally have to pay for these. I am not in the business of giving handouts.” Jefferson called from the kitchen. The Colonel found several notebooks that looked particularly promising and slipped them into his slim leather attaché and snapped it shut. From another pocket, he pulled out several bills.

Jefferson emerged from the kitchen with a sad looking plant and grabbed the money before Colonel Burr could object. He counted it slowly and approving of the amount, nodded to himself.

“I suppose we have no more business to conduct with one another.” Jefferson remarked, putting the money in his pants pocket. He could not meet his one-time ally’s black gaze. This did not go unnoticed.

\----------

The air hung thick with residual passion as around them candles dripped slowly, sensuously,

“A plant. You bought a fucking plant.” General Hamilton’s bare chest, still slick with sweat, heaved in anger. He lay on his back and faced the ceiling petulantly.

“I can’t believe this.”

“He said it has calming abilities,” Colonel Burr responded from his position on his elbows. He grabbed a pillow from nearby and maneuvered himself atop it. He wiped a strand of disheveled black hair from his eyes as his heart rate began to slow.

“Save it for yourself. I don’t want to smoke anything that he’s grown in his garden. It’s probably poisonous. I can’t believe you trust him.”

“I _don’t_ trust him, sweet poet,” the Colonel responded, inching closer. He cautiously brought his lips to the bare, freckled shoulder and placed a biting kiss on it. Slowly his kisses traveled to the General’s neck. He gripped the blankets at the touch, purring. Colonel Burr smiled.

“I _don’t_ trust him, and to prove it, I will _show_ you what I’ve brought for you.”

The General opened his eyes and looked at the man next to him. “What?”

Colonel Burr smiled and removed, from under the bed, his leather case. Pulling out the notebooks, he grinned even broader.

“I have here some of his notes, no doubt useful to us. I took them when he wasn’t looking,” at this, the General shot up, scattering several pillows to the floor and causing a candle on the night stand to flicker and Colonel Burr continued, “he really is pathetically naïve, when you think about it.”

“Colonel Burr—“ The General looked as though it were Christmas.

“I told you I wouldn’t disappoint. With these, I hope, we can gain better insight into that duplicitous moron’s head to find out what he’s planning. Or what, by divine Providence, he thinks he’s going to accomplish.”

Quite suddenly, General Hamilton pounced on his bed-mate, covering his mouth with smiling, though avaricious, kisses.

“You are positively evil,” he whispered between breaths.

 The Colonel grinned silently and received the twisted lust happily, relishing in the heat of the room. 


End file.
